Hawkeye's Mission
by Sandyswrite
Summary: Part Three of my "Hawkeye-Oneshots" series. AU. SPOILERS for Season One of "AGENTS OF SHIELD." Director Coulson sends Barton and Simmons on their first mission together, and when controversial actions are taken, Simmons makes a drastic decision.


**Hey guys,**

**So this is the third part of my Hawkeye-Oneshot series. It is waaaaaaaaaaay overdue. :P In my defense, I heard that Clint has been on a farm? And then "Agents of SHIELD" continued to develop its stories (it even gave Fitz mental/brain issues! I didn't think the show would be that dynamic, so I'm impressed). ****Basically, I've been content with what's canon, so that limited my motivation to continue writing this AU series. :P But I promised to get this oneshot posted, so I did.**

**I'm not sure if I'll continue these oneshots or not, but I did leave some questions unanswered in this specific fanfic (I seem incapable of writing conclusive endings). **

**There is no mention of Ward like I initially planned there would be, and there is no Fitz (though he is spoken about). I also ended up introducing (re-introducing?) a Marvel villain when I didn't intend to do so, so...this fic has a mind of its own, let's just say that.**

**Thank you all for your patience. I hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

**WARNING: SOME VIOLENCE AND T-RATED LANGUAGE**

**PAIRINGS: GEN**

* * *

Hawkeye's Mission

The first time Clint officially met Dr. Jemma Simmons, they were in Coulson's new office. It was a spacious room—the ceiling well over thirty feet high—and the only thing that occupied it was torn-up carpet, a desk, and a chair. There were no windows, so the area looked like an abnormally large prison cell.

"With all due respect, sir," Simmons said, her tone suggesting otherwise, "I don't understand why I am being sent away on a mission when I can do more good here. With Fitz."

"We're still scouring the globe for all the scientist we can get," Coulson said. He was leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped in front of him while his arms rested on the desk. He appeared as calm and optimistic as he always did, but there was something different about him now. He seemed older. Tired. "Until we can find everyone in every field, we're going to have to make do with who we have."

"It's insulting to think that someone who has a working understanding of _bio_mechanics would be able to comprehend engineering and weapons technology."

Coulson cocked an eyebrow. "Is it? It sounds like a compliment to me."

"Agent Coul—" Her face scrunched with distaste. "_Director_ Coulson—"

"Simmons, this isn't up for debate. You're all I've got." His gaze became gentler. "Fitz will be here when you get back."

The two stared each other down. Clint glanced between them, his hand not yet cold from the handshake he had just shared with the young woman. She had had a strong grip.

Glaring, Simmons was the first to turn away. "He better be," she said as she walked out the door.

Clint cringed when she slammed it shut. Then he looked at Coulson expectantly. He knew what the new Director was going to say before he even said it, but it was still polite to wait for it.

"Keep an eye on her."

Clint nodded. "Will do."

Coulson settled back in his chair. He was reaching for some papers when he noticed Clint hadn't left yet. He frowned at the archer. "Is there something else?"

"I'm sure there is, but for some reason you're hesitating to tell me."

"…I hate it when you do that."

"No you don't."

"No I don't. Fine." Coulson stood up, the creaking of the chair sounding like the creaking of his bones, and walked over to Clint. In a hushed tone, he said, "If there is some…biotechnology, experimental medicine—anything like that there, I want you to confiscate it, no matter whose jurisdiction it is. Understood?"

"Understood. You don't want me to tell Simmons?"

"I don't want to get her hopes up."

"You mean you don't want her to get distracted on this mission."

Coulson huffed. "I'm afraid it's too late for that."

* * *

Ready to go, Clint walked through the halls. His skin tingled with apprehension, though he kept his muscles loosened and his strides relaxed. He would rather be walking on the catwalk, the safest vantage point in the entire place, but Coulson had asked him nicely not to do that anymore. The jerk.

Clint stopped right outside of the viewing window of the medical wing. Tilting his head forward, he peered into it. Sure enough, there was Dr. Simmons, standing beside Dr. Fitz's bed and talking. Though Clint could read lips, the words Dr. Simmons was using were ridiculously long—and pronounced with a British accent, no less. Regardless, he tried to understand what she was telling her friend.

…_Something about the mission…returning…safe…brilliant…I wish you could go…_

Clint sighed. He didn't know Dr. Fitz, but having your brain damaged so much that you couldn't communicate properly—and the delusions the poor kid was having…. It made Clint's heart ache and his gut twist. He could only imagine what Dr. Simmons was feeling.

"Barton."

Clint swore—nearly jumped—and spun around to face the Calvary.

"They weren't kidding about you," he said, laughing to disguise his breathlessness. He almost choked on his own saliva, he was breathing so fast, but he soon managed to portray a calm front.

"Take care of her," she said. Her expression was as stoic as stone, and her stance just as rigid. "If you let anything happen to her, I'm coming after you. Understood?"

He nodded. "Of course."

She nodded in return before continuing down the hall.

His gaze darted back to Dr. Simmons, who was still standing beside her friend. After a moment of thought, he turned around and headed for the plane. He trusted that this Dr. Simmons was scrupulous enough to be there on the time.

* * *

They went over the mission on the plane: Find Dr. Abel Barrett in his hometown of Berlin, make sure he is alright, then recruit him to SHIELD. It was as simple as that. Simmons didn't really need a bodyguard, though that wasn't the only reason why Coulson wanted him to tag along.

"He worked for Hydra?" Simmons asked. She wasn't quite glaring at him, but she still managed to appear livid.

"Not exactly," Clint said, sitting across from her. He was leaning back in his seat, one leg flung over the other. He scratched his chin, remembering. "It was more of a seller-client relationship. He upgraded their weapons and sold it back to them. Other than that, he had no real affiliation with them."

"We shouldn't be recruiting him," Simmons said. She shook her head with disgust and crossed her arms. "SHIELD recruited supposedly ex-Hydra agents in the past, and look what happened."

Clint shrugged. "Barrett's not a bad guy, just greedy. Widow and I set him straight when he nearly started a World War Three in Budapest. He's been loyal to SHIELD ever since." He scrunched his face. "Although, we did lose contact with him shortly after Hydra went after Fury."

"It is remarkable what you find reassuring."

"It'll be fine."

She turned away, and they remained silent for the rest of the trip.

* * *

When they broke into Barrett's apartment, they discovered it was full of junk. The bookshelves, the desks, and even the couches were covered with papers and strange devices—or parts of devices, anyway. The place didn't look abandoned, but as the two of them investigated, Simmons noticed the dead plants and Clint found that many of the drawers were empty of clothes.

"What do we do now?" Simmons asked.

He picked up some of the papers. Once he saw that there was nothing but scientific gibberish written on them, he gave them to her. "You skim through these and see if you can find any clues to where he might have gone."

"He could have joined Hydra," she said.

"Possibly."

As she began to read through the gibberish, he went into the bathroom—the one room neither of them had fully looked over yet. The first thing he noticed was that the mirror had splintery cracks in the center of it. Bringing his face closer to his broken reflection, he saw a few specks of blood in between the cracks. He reached into his pocket for his gloves and a small petri dish.

The front door's knob jiggled, someone on the other side locking it—probably unintentionally.

Clint took a large step out of the bathroom and frantically motioned for Simmons to hide. Gripping the papers, she sped for the bedroom while Clint backed himself into the bathroom again and closed the door partway.

The front door trembled, then opened.

"Sorry about that," Barrett said, his voice quivering. "Nervous, I guess. Being held at gunpoint can do that to you."

"No one is holding you at gunpoint Dr. Barrett," someone said.

Clint peeked through the space beneath the door's hinge, beside the doorframe. There was Barrett, leading four—no, five darkly dressed people into his apartment. They were all speaking German, but it was one of the many languages Clint was fluent in, and he had recently learned that Simmons was fluent in it, as well. That was about the only good thing in this situation, though seeing Barrett was a little satisfying for some reason.

Barrett awkwardly stood by his desk, turning to glance out the window before facing the people again. Shakily, he spread his arms out. "See? I left everything important for you to find."

"Or for SHIELD to find," that same someone said—a woman with short hair and dark eyes. She scanned the area, and Clint flinched back behind the door. After a moment, she continued, "You have been a great resource for Hydra in the past, Doctor, and we have always been generous toward you."

"An-And I have been grateful! Truly!"

The woman snorted. "In any case, we wish you no harm, just your allegiance once more."

"I already accepted."

"You lied," she said.

"I didn't—"

"You're lying now. I don't appreciate it." Footsteps cladded onward. "You see, SHIELD is already trying to rebuild itself, and even in its weakened state, we can't afford the advantage they would have if you continued to work with them."

"I'm not though. I left."

"You fled.  
"I-I fled, yes."

"It was easy for us to find you in London. It would have been easy for SHIELD to find you there, so fleeing is not an option. You either join Hydra, or I am afraid I will be forced to murder you."

As Barrett blubbered for his life, Clint quietly unsheathed his folded up bow. Before he allowed the specialized bow to unwind itself, he reached behind him and took out five arrows.

He inhaled. Adrenaline jittered through him, giving him strength, which his concentration turned into focused energy. Now, all he needed was a distraction—some split-second nonsense that would allow him to—

Light noises came from the bedroom. It was the fluttering of dropped papers, Clint realized.

"What was that?" the woman asked sharply.

Clint smirked. He waited another second, listening as the Hydra agents moved forward, and then he pushed the button on his bow to unfold it. Before the noise of that could grab anyone's attention, he kicked the door aside and unleashed his five arrows at the same time.

Two of the arrows hit there mark, killing two Hydra Agents instantly. The other two arrows were skewed off course due to the agents' quick reflexes, but they still punctured the agents' flesh. The last arrow missed entirely, the lead woman having spun out of the way while taking out her gun.

Barrett screamed and scrambled under his desk.

Clint unsheathed another arrow and aimed it at the woman. He was all too aware of the injured agents regaining their composure, grappling their sides for their own guns, but Clint didn't dare avert her gaze from the target in front of him.

"Barton," the woman said, her English virtually flawless. "It is an honor to finally meet you."

"I'd say the same thing, except I have no idea who the hell you are."

"Good."

The other agents were now aiming their weapons at him. They were both bleeding profusely—one from his shoulder, the other from her hip—and while Clint was aware of them, he didn't consider them much of a threat. Not compared to this woman, who reminded him way too much of Nat when he first met her.

"Not even going to give me a name?" Clint asked.

"No." Without taking her eyes off Clint, the woman commanded the other agents to go into the bedroom and neutralize whatever danger was in there.

Fear spiked through Clint's chest, but he remained steady where he stood. He used his fear to make his voice edgy. "Who are you?"

"I'm afraid that's classified."

She seemed content to let silence hang between them—no witty banter, no promises of his death, nothing. All the while, the other agents were limping closer and closer to the bedroom. Trying not to focus on them made Clint's eyes ache.

"You know me," he said. "That means you know what I'm capable of. I can kill the rest of you within seconds."

Her stoic expression didn't change. "As can I."

The agents reached the bedroom door.

Clint swallowed.

One of them peeked inside.

A whirring _bang_ erupted from the room, immediately followed by the agent's head reeling back. He collapsed to the ground as the other agent shot into the room.

Another whirring _bang_ erupted, and that agent fell to the ground, too.

Clint had to refrain himself from grinning. He knew what Dr. Simmons was capable of, but it was a huge relief to witness it, even if it was only from his peripheral vision.

The woman, to her credit, didn't even flinch.

"I'd say you're outnumbered," Clint said.

"I concur," she said. Her trigger finger twitched.

Clint flung himself to the side as she released a series of bullets. Rolling across the carpet, he watched her leap out the window and onto the fire escape.

He ran after her, glancing at Simmons as she exited the bedroom. In her hands was a Night-Night gun—or whatever they were calling it now. She was pale and shaking but clearly capable of taking care of herself.

Clint sped past Simmons and jumped out the window. He looked down, then up. One story above his head, the woman was snaking her way into someone else's apartment. Clint unsheathed a tranquilizing arrow, but the woman was already out of sight.

"Damn it," he muttered as he climbed after her.

The chase continued to the building's rooftop. Clint heard the helicopter's rudders long before they reached that point, and though he tried to move faster, he knew this was going to be a lost cause.

As the helicopter began to hover, the woman leaped into it, landing on one foot while twisting around to shoot a few more bullets at Clint. Clint took cover behind the building's air conditioner. Bullets showered the ground around him—clearly more than one person was shooting at him now. Regardless, he dared to peek over his hiding place and let loose an arrow with a tracking beacon in it.

He hadn't necessarily been aiming at the woman, just something the arrow would sink into. However, she pushed her ally on his knees so that the arrow would penetrate his heart. The helicopter was high enough that Clint couldn't hear if the guy cried out or not. He was barely able to make out the guy flinching before the woman shoved him out of the copter.

Wide-eyed, Clint's eyes followed the man's decent until he fell past the rooftop's edge. It was as if this woman though his arrows could taint every single cell it came near. It was insane and bizzare, and an uncomfortable shock zapped through him, freezing him.

By the time he raised his gaze to the helicopter, it was long gone.

He returned to Barrett's apartment through the window. Barrett was sitting on a clear space on his couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a drink in his quivering hands. Simmons was kneeling beside him. They both looked like they were about to have a heart attack when he popped in on them.

Clint ignored their horrified expressions. "She got away, but she'll probably be back with reinforcements. We need to go." He headed for front door, turning when he realized they weren't following him. They weren't even looking at him. "We need to go _now_, in case that wasn't clear."

Barrett shook his head. "How did this happened?"

Clint sighed. "Barrett—"

"How did life turn into this?"

"You teamed up with Hydra. Once you do that, there's no going back. You're only chance for safety is if you come with us right now."

Barrett swallowed. "But if—"

"No. You come with us, or you die. That's that."

Discomfort crawled up Clint's throat. He ignored it and stared down the scientist. When Barrett still refused to budge, Clint clenched his teeth. He walked up to the scientist, pinched his shoulder in the right place, and then caught Barrett as he passed out.

Simmons's hands were already on Barrett's neck. "What did you do?!"

"Relax," Clint said, shifting Barrett in his arms before heading for the door. "He's fine. Just unconscious. Let's go!"

"You can't do that," Simmons said, hurrying after him. "He has rights, you know!"

"We can have this conversation once we are safe from getting killed by Hydra agents."

Simmons continued to try and argue with him, but since he was no longer responding to her, she soon became quiet.

* * *

"…then we came back here," Clint said, sitting across from Coulson in the man's office. He couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice as he continued. "And you let him go."

"I know."

"He's either going to join Hydra or get killed."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because this isn't a prison and he isn't under any charges."

Clint rubbed the skin in between his eyebrows. He understood the morality of it, in away, but it still didn't make any sense in the long run. He certainly didn't think he had made any wrong decisions.

"I'm not Fury," Coulson said, eyes boring into him.

The statement sounded so weighted that Clint couldn't help but snort. He let his hand fall in his lap. "Believe me, I know. It's more obvious than you might think."

Coulson didn't speak for a moment, averting his gaze. "Many of SHIELD's past actions are why it broke apart the way it did. We can't be what we once were, not if we want to survive."

"Then what do we become?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure yet. But I know we need more people like Simmons."

"It's a good thing that you have her. She can kick some ass."

Coulson gave him a look—an expression stiff and twisted with sadness.

Clint nearly winced. "She resigned, didn't she?"

"She gave her notice. Once Fitz is recovered enough to leave, she is going to leave with him. I suspect she was always going to do that." Coulson rubbed his eyes, his throat constricting a little.

"Have you been getting any sleep, Phil?"

"No." Abruptly, he lowered his hand and changed the subject. "You didn't find that thing I asked you to look for?"

Clint shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Phil gave him a sympathetic, albeit disappointed, look. "It was a long shot."

* * *

Later that night, Clint entered the medical bay. As expected, Dr. Simmons was sitting by her bedridden friend. Her head was drooping forward somewhat, her shoulders sagging. Clint made sure to keep his footsteps silent as he approached her and a sleeping Dr. Fitz.

He had a lot of time to reflect on the recent mission and on his gut-feeling about these two. He hadn't gotten into too much psychological mumbo-jumbo (he had had bad experiences with psychology), but he realized that he feared these two people—these two obviously good people—going down a harmful path. Natasha had deserved a second chance, Clint had deserved a second chance, and these two kids—well, if he could save them from making horrible mistakes, then he would.

For whatever reason, Simmons chose that moment to stretch back. Her peripheral vision caught sight of him, and she turned to him and bristled. An instant later, her entire body sagged with relief. "Bloody hell, Barton. What are you doing here?"

"I heard that you were quitting SHIELD," he said.

She rubbed her bloodshot eyes. "What of it?"

"Well, after working with you, I just came to tell you that I think you're making the right call."

"I don't need your—wait, what?" She turned more fully to him, her chair squeaking as she did so. "You think what?"

"I think it's the right call. Don't get me wrong, you are terrific at this job and we could really use you, but it's not worth the risk of turning you into something you're not."

"Which is what?"

He shrugged. "Unscrupulous? Hateful? Treacherous?"

She narrowed her gaze and her voice became heated. "Are you insinuating I'm a traitor?"

"After everything you have been through, I am _insinuating_ that you've thought about it."

She stood up. "I don't care who you are. I don't care about your reputation here. My reasons for leaving SHIELD are my own, and while you are entitled to your ridiculous and insulting opinions, I insist that you keep them to yourself."

His lips twitched upward. "No promises." He nodded at her as she huffed. "Good night, Dr. Simmons."

Casually, he walked out of the medical area and into the hallway.

"Agent Barton."

He swore and spun around. Once again, he was face-to-face with the Calvary.

"You have got to stop doing that," he said, this time unable to hide the breathlessness of his voice.

"Thank you for keeping your promise," she said.

"You're welcome."

She turned toward the medical bay, watching Dr. Simmons through the observation window. "Do you really think they are better off away from here?"

"Why, Agent May, were you spying on us?" He smirked and continued to smirk as she stared him down. After an awkward few seconds, he cleared his throat. "I do. She doesn't believe in SHIELD anymore, so staying here…it wouldn't be sincere. Or helpful."

Melinda turned back to the medical bay.

"Hey," Clint said, narrowing his eyes with thought, "have you ever encountered a Hydra agent like Romanoff? Speaks German, fast as a freaking cheetah?"

"I've encountered a lot of dangerous people. You'll have to be more specific."

"I can't," he said, frustrated. "And that worries me."


End file.
